


Cold hands warm hearts

by VirtualCarrot (Kaoro)



Series: Teen Wolf tumblr ficlets [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, gratuitous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaoro/pseuds/VirtualCarrot
Summary: Open railway platforms are the worst. Derek's cold, Stiles is amused.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Teen Wolf tumblr ficlets [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643803
Comments: 6
Kudos: 82





	Cold hands warm hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Also known as the lamest title ever but I couldn't leave it empty
> 
> originally posted here https://virtualcarrot.tumblr.com/post/44333848384/not-beta-read-because-a-im-impatient-b-its with companion fanart some six years ago oh my god time flies

Derek discreetly shifted from foot to foot, his jaw clenched so his teeth didn’t chatter, and hissed in displeasure when shoving his hands under his armpits made him come into direct contact with the cold leather of his jacket. 

Stiles, the lower-half of his face buried into the raised collar of his coat, looked sideways at him. “You cold?”

“No,” Derek said through gritted teeth, staring manfully ahead at the empty tracks and the handful of cluttered people shivering on the platforms.

Stiles rolled his eyes, took off his gloves and slapped them against Derek’s chest.

“Here.”

Derek tried to push the gloves away, but Stiles dodged with a flat look and pressed them into his hands.

“You’re going to be cold,” the werewolf protested gloomily, at which point Stiles waved towards his inadequate attire.

“I’m not the one who’s under-dressed for the weather.”

“No, you’re the one who’s human.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows and whistled as if in wonder, his eyes hard.

“Are you looking for a fight? You sound like you’re looking for a fight.”

Derek grabbed the gloves in his haste to placate him. Stiles let go with a pointed look that told him he was very aware of it.

Derek fingered the gloves, reluctant to put them on even though the body-heat they retained felt tantalizing.  “What if your hands get cold?” He insisted.

“Then I’ll put them in my pockets. Or in your pockets, I can put them in your pockets.”

“You want me to wear your gloves so I don’t get cold and use my pockets so you don’t either. That doesn’t make any sense,” Derek sniped even as he slipped them on.

“It’s romantic,” Stiles drawled right back, watching him rub his gloved hands together. 

“It’s lame.”

“Same thing,” Stiles said, absently taking Derek’s hands into his own. Stiles’ bare knuckles were already red from the cold, the skin split at places.

“Have you been taking courting advice from Scott?” Derek asked, barely aware of the words leaving his lips as he watched Stiles press Derek’s hands against his mouth.

Stiles hummed noncommittally and breathed out hot and wet against the cloth. Derek found himself torn between grudging arousal and disgruntled disgust, which was a feeling he usually experienced when Stiles ate, drank, spoke, or so much as breathed in general.

Stiles exhaled slowly once more and let go. Derek fought against the urge to raise his hands to his face and breathe in and instead rubbed them together, shaking his head to clear his thoughts when Stiles spoke up: “Better?”

“No, now it’s just cold — and wet,” Derek griped.

Stiles snickered and shoved his hands into his own pockets, leaning against him. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were imposing and badass.”

“You did?” Derek asked, surprised and pleased, leaning back.

“For all of three seconds, yeah.”

Derek contemplated stepping away and letting Stiles crash to the floor.

Instead he said, “Weren’t you supposed to use my pockets?”

Stiles blinked, trying to make sense of the non sequitur. He smiled lazily when he figured it out and burrowed his hands deeper into his own coat.

“It’s lame, you said,” he teased, sagging even more into Derek’s side who took the brunt of his weight without a word, going so far as to loop an arm around his shoulders.

“I’ve been told it’s romantic.”

“And you’re a sucker for romance, aren’t you?”

“Don’t make me say something mushy, because I will, and then we’ll both lose all remaining respect for me,” Derek said, tugging impatiently at Stiles’s arms until he freed his hands and could manhandle them into his awaiting pockets.

“The leather’s cold,” Stiles complained, his chin pressed against Derek’s shoulder. “Also, I feel like I should be doing a really bad sex joke right now about my hand and your pocket, and I want it to be known that I‘m holding it back.”

“Please do,” Derek groaned, sounding pained.

He felt Stiles shake against him and looked down ready to offer his meager jacket, his anything, to fight off the cold, only to find him laughing silently to himself.

“Glad you’re entertained,” he sighed.

“It was a good joke,” Stiles smirked.

They stood on the platform, winced at the squealing brakes of an incoming train, and watched the billowing fog of their breathing.

Stiles nudged him.

“Thanks for coming, you know. To visit. We’re all sort of ridiculously co-dependent, I never thought we’d survive the first week of college, let alone midterms.”

Derek didn’t know what to say to that so he settled for brushing his lips against Stiles’ temple and enjoying the warmth of the body pressed against his while they waited for the train that would take him back to Beacon Hills.


End file.
